


I'm miles from where you are

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coulson has a thing for Skye's voice, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Protectiveness, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scars, Skye gets what she wants, Smut, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, but she's not great at following orders, healhty happy dynamics, that's canon anyway, these two have too much respect for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped by the enemy and separated but able to communicate Coulson and Skye find out if their close relationship can become a liability. They find out just how close that relationship really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm miles from where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic deals with our heroes being tortured. It's not graphic in any way and they don't get hurt too badly but some people might find the subject disturbing.

He finds it easy to steady his breathing, to stop hyperventilating, soon after they throw him in the cell, to adjust his eyes to his surroundings, after the blindfold.

He knows the techniques, he has been trained for situations like this one. He's been in situations like this one before. And he's survived, so at least history is on his side. History and muscle memory, these things he has to fall back on against inconvenient fear and pain. It's no use denying _there is_ fear and pain here. But. He's good at this. No one could tell to look at him, but he's pretty good at this stuff. He tells himself this over and over – it's not the first time his arrogance has saved his neck.

He struggles against the handcuffs but he knows they'll hold so he doesn't tire himself out. These people are good, they know what they are doing. They _knew_ what they were doing. He inspects his surroundings and knows the walls will hold too, it's no use going that route.

 _Skye_ , his mind goes, and his body goes utterly stiff for a moment. He doesn't know if they got her. He thinks they did, has the ugly gut feeling they did. He saw one of them grab her, the other running towards her, but that was when the whole world went dark – he can feel the dried blood stuck to the hair on the back of his head. May and Trip were too late getting to them.

These techniques he knows, this training he has had since he was eighteen, for situations like this – Skye doesn't have it. She doesn't have these tools. For her there will be only fear and pain. Coulson makes himself calm down. It's not entirely true. Skye has been training under May for some months now. She has learned the basics, he's sure, like how to control her breathing and tune out the pain, or at least smooth the edges. She is an agent. A good agent. 

She's come a long way.

He trusts her.

She'll be all right.

It's out of his hands – his tied hands – anyway. Like this, he won't be able to help her. He has to hold out.

He waits.

It's all he can do right now.

( _Where did they take her?_ )

He doesn't want to be here.

 

+

 

Don't panic.

Just don't panic.

Just. Don't. Panic.

Skye's head goes over those words as many times as it needs to. Until they become a mantra and she can breathe again – not normally, but _breathe_ at least. The horrible pressure inside her chest loosens a bit. She reminds herself she has had training. She's a SHIELD agent. She has to make Agent May proud. She has to make May proud. She's a proper SHIELD agent and has been for some time and she _can do this_.

First she focuses on herself, keeping all the noise of her panic and her pain (she bumped her knee against the car quite dramatically when the two men dragged her inside it) at bay. She is okay. They haven't hurt her (yet). She's handcuffed but they have taken the blindfold off. She looks down at her own body, her clothes, just making sure. She's okay. There's that.

Shit, she thinks, blaming the confusion of the trip here for how long it has taken her to think about this. _Coulson_.

She clearly saw three men take him. She clearly saw how they hit him in the back of his head and he went down.

He is all right, though. Right?

He has to be.

(He's Coulson, of course he's all right)

She reminds herself of the _don't panic_ chant, because she has to. She wrestles against the handcuffs methodically for a while, to distract herself, until her wrists are sore.

Whoever these people are (and that's another thing Skye would like to know, thank you very much – who are these people?) Coulson is of no use to them dead, just like her.

Then she hears a voice through the cell wall.

" _Skye_?"

 

+

 

"Are you –?"

She doesn't let him finish. "I'm okay, I'm okay. _You_?"

"I will nurse a severe headache in the morning," he says, trying, trying so hard for her.

He's trying, Skye thinks, and he sounds scared so she rewards him with a chuckle, loud enough that he can hear through the wall.

They talk about the details of the situation, what they remember of the car drive here, they speculate about the identity of their captors, their goals. They compare notes. They agree on the hopelessness of trying to escape these locked doors. They agree on the confidence that their team will soon be here to get them out, if they just hold out. More than anything Coulson wants to keep her talking; more than anything Coulson wants to hear Skye's voice.

She is comforted by the fact that she can talk to Coulson, hear his familiar, always-comforting voice. But she is also intrigued.

"Why would they let us communicate? Why would they put us next to each other, let us talk?" she asks.

"To scare us," Coulson replies, wishing he didn't know this maneuver. "To... break us."

"Oh."

 _To break you_ , he thinks, hating himself for it. These people seem to know a lot about them; they are organized, they have the data, the original mission – the Welcome Wagon – had been a cover. Skye is not a specialist, not even an ops agent like himself and Coulson fears they know this and will try to use it to their advantage. When they come for her first he fears he might be right.

 

+

 

You're a proper SHIELD agent, Skye.

(SHIELD is no more)

Don't panic.

(but you're tied to a chair)

Coulson.

(but he's not here, in this room, with you)

Don't cry.

(but...)

You're a proper SHIELD agent.

(yes)

 

+

 

He uses his even breathing and his excellent sense of time (muscle memory) to calculate how long she's been gone.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes. 

A lot can happen in ten minutes.

 

+

 

"Hello again," she says, when whoever has brought her back to the cell has left already. Coulson hears the door lock.

"Did they –?"

"They just roughed me up a bit, some sort of getting to know me situation," Skye says, looking for a spot against the wall where she can hear his voice better.

She sounds whole and okay, but _roughed me up a bit_ sounds terrifying to Coulson right now. He wants to ask about the details.

"They punched me, that's all," she offers, like she can sense it. "It wasn't so bad. Kind of weak, actually. I've been punched in the face before."

He'd normally be only to happy to listen to the stories of her wild youth, Skye knows, but that's not what his silence means right now.

Coulson needs to think about this from a rational angle, stop conjuring images of Skye beaten up. "What did they ask?"

"They asked about the bases," Skye answers, there's a weight to it, both of them knowing how much SHIELD's last remaining secrets would cost. "SHIELD's other bases, the ones nobody has found about yet. And HYDRA's... they asked what we had discovered about HYDRA's secret bases, their labs."

Even through the wall Skye can hear Coulson _thinking_ , running scenarios, just like she had done while they were interrogating her. His actual silence, though, is not very encouraging.

 

+

 

Skye thinks that waiting for Coulson to come back is even worse than being in that room, sitting in that chair, herself.

 

+

 

"They'll come for me next again. Won't they?" Skye asks. She hates the trembling of her voice. "That's how it goes. Me, then you, and the cycle starts again. Until one of us breaks."

Not just that, Coulson thinks. It's not that the cycle will start again. He's pretty sure things will _escalate_ from here on. There's a bitter taste inside his mouth. The thought of bodily harm (what a joke, _any_ kind of harm) coming to Skye pierces something very essential inside of him – he doesn't have the time or headspace to reflect on exactly why right now; except he knows, he might play dumb very well but at the end of the day he has to face the fact that he is not dumb at all. You have to face the music, he tells himself, but he doesn't, he was planning on playing dumb until the end of his days, probably, – which could be very soon, as it happens. Right now it's really hard not to face all that, and many more things, with horror scenarios running through his mind, with history not on his side, because he knows the details and minutae of how human beings can extract pain from one another, because he knows these techniques of pain and fear, because he can't stop imagining Skye at the receiving end. Because he can't stop –

"Coulson?" He hasn't answered her and right now all she has in the world is his voice. She can't see his face. She really, really wants to see his face (she dreads seeing his face; what if he's hurt?).

"Skye, listen to me," he says after a moment, as sternly as he can manage, trying not to betray himself, and hoping to every deity that she will listen.

Skye swallows, hoping for some magic trick, some spy technique Coulson can teach her that will get her through this. Mainly there's a sense of relief that he will give her some orders, probably. She doesn't want to think, she just wants to do whatever he says. If she knows what he wants her to do it will be easier for her to draw the strength to see this through. "I'm listening."

"Tell them everything," Coulson says.

That is not the order Skye has been expecting.

" _What?_ "

"Whatever they want to know, it doesn't matter."

"No. No way. _No_."

"They'll torture you," he says, purposedly punctuating the word.

"That's the idea, I guessed as much, thank you."

Skye realizes Coulson can't see her shrugging, but she hopes he can sense the gesture anyway.

He can hear the fear in her voice, despite the bravado. There has never been a moment where Coulson has wished that Skye wasn't _exactly_ who she is, to this very last detail, but right now it's the closest he's ever come.

"Don't let them," he says. "Tell them everything they want you to."

He must have hit his head very hard, Skye thinks, to be saying these things.

"They'll kill us."

They'll kill us anyway, Coulson thinks.

"Not necessarily," he lies.

"How can you ask me to tell them...?" Skye's voice dies out on the question like a snuffed candle. She takes a moment to recompose herself. "Coulson, I saw you willing to die before giving Centipede any intel. Do you think I don't remember the bruises and cuts on your face? Do you think I don't remember your screams? Because I remember. _Vividly_."

"Just do what I say and tell them everything." This is the part where he sounds angry – and angry on Coulson sounds icy and clipped-toned and perfectly calm and collected.

"I know I'm not a specialist, or a badass ops agent like you, but –"

"This is not about that." He grits his teeth. It's not about that at all. Coulson knows what he is doing is wrong, unprofessional, disrespectful. Skye deserves better. 

"If it's not about that then what–"

"I'm your boss, I'm the Director of SHIELD and this is an order."

Skye wishes Coulson could see how high she is arching her eyebrow right now. "Well. It's a really stupid order, sir. So I'm not listening."

"Skye. You don't have anything to prove. To me or to –"

" _Don't I_?" she snaps. "Because the fact that you just told a fellow agent to give up vital intel to the enemy to avoid torture tells me that I have _a lot_ to prove."

They don't have time to argue anymore because the door opens and Coulson hears how Skye is dragged out of the cell once more.

 

+

 

He doesn't know if this time she is gone longer of it just feels like it to him.

 

+

 

I am a proper SHIELD agent, Skye repeats inside her head.

(I will prove Coulson wrong)

It doesn't make the pain go away, but it gives it meaning.

 

+

 

When Coulson hears the door open and the thud against the floor he instinctively presses his body against the walls of the cell, struggling to catch every noise, and it takes everything in his body not to call out to her immediately.

Skye really, really doesn't want to open her eyes and she wants to stay like this, cheek against the cold floor, for as long as they let her. Cold, cold floor. That's nice.

"Skye? Skye. _Skye_."

There's a beat. There's a horrible beat of silence that seems to stretch forever.

"Give me a moment here, boss," he hears Skye says. 

She pushes her whole body against the wall, trying to prop herself into a sitting position. The pain in her right shoulder is everything she can think about now, but following Coulson's voice, that's almost instinct at this point.

Coulson breathes deeply at that first sliver of hope, she's conscious and not so badly hurt that she can't reply to his call with the usual self-deprecating challenge in her voice. But then he analyzes – this is what he does, this is what has kept him sane and alive for so many years – and Skye sounded breatheless and in pain.

"Are you all right?" he asks, not recognizing his own voice in the question, pleading with her. "What did they –?"

Skye sees the blood on her shirt.

"Shit," Coulson hears her say.

"What?"

"I don't have such a huge wardrobe to begin with. I'm taking down those bastards for ruining my favorite denim shirt."

" _Skye_."

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she says, a bit impatiently.

"No," Coulson demands. "Talk me through it, Skye."

She is definitely not doing that. She knows him. She has a pretty good idea of how he would react if she were to run all the details by him. He probably thinks she hasn't noticed how much he is freaking out over her getting hurt, but she knows him too well not to. She's fine – she pretty much is, anyway. He has to trust her on this. She's in pain but she knows enough about these things to realize she's in no immediately danger. And _that_ is all Coulson needs to hear and understand for now.

"I said I'm okay. I haven't lost much blood."

" _Much_?"

"Barely grazed me. Should have seen the other guy."

He wants to smile at her pathetic effort but he can't.

"Skye. I know something is wrong when _you_ can't manage a convincing lie."

There's a beat.

"My name," she says, but low enough that he can't hear her too well through the wall.

"What?"

"You keep saying. My name. Is that some spy technique? To comfort me?"

"Yes," he tells her quickly. "It's a technique. But not to comfort _you_."

Neither says anything for a moment after that. Skye doesn't even move. She tries not to think too much about it, she doesn't have the time or the energy to, right now. She doesn't want to lose any more things, including possibilities. If she is going to die here (she believes the team will get them out in time, no doubt, but still, hypotheticals) she doesn't want to die after wasting time in _what if_ s.

The silence goes on. Coulson doesn't like it. It gives him time to think. He can't help the ugly feeling that they might be using Skye to get him to talk. They haven't been too hard on him, like they knew it was useless to even try. He can't help the ugly, _vicious_ feeling that's he's put Skye at risk again, not through work, not through his decisions as her boss, but through the simple fact that she is important to him.

"Don't even think it," Skye says, snapping him out of it.

"What?"

"I know exactly what you are thinking."

There's something about the hopeless determination in her voice Coulson finds endearing, even in these circumstances.

"You can't see my face thinking it," he tells her.

She snorts. "I don't _need_ to see your face. You're thinking about giving up the information yourself."

"Because you won't listen to my orders," he protests. It sounds a bit childish, in that voice. Like he is the one being irrational here.

"I hereby declare you unfit to give orders. Now it's me telling you what to do. Just don't do what you are thinking about doing." Coulson doesn't reply. " _Please_."

 

+

 

He can't risk Skye getting hurt any more than she has already been.

But he can't risk disappointing her either.

 

+

 

She will admit to being a coward but part of Skye wishes he goes through with his plan of giving up.

She's not sure if that wish is for herself or Coulson.

 

+

 

He feels tired. But then again that's nothing new. He has been feeling tired for some time now. It has very little to do with his current predicament. He can feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, but it's only a little bit. He's not in too much pain. The punch to the kidney aside he got through it with the accostumed smirk on his face he keeps for these occassions. The smirk, too, is a well-learned SHIELD technique. Muscle memory. The smile never reaches his eyes. He stays on the floor, not because he can't get up, but because he doesn't see a reason to. He hears a voice.

"Coulson. Coulson. Talk to me."

Skye waits for him to reply, tries not to press him, and – _don't panic_. It's kind of her fault, this. If she had talked their captors would have spared Coulson. She was just being difficult, disobeying him. It's her fault, and more than kind of. Coulson could be badly hurt and it's totally her fault.

"I didn't tell them anything," he says with a sigh. He's not sure he's made the right decision. Skye is so stubborn. It might even ger her killed today.

"Good agent," she says and her voice is so warm Coulson thinks he might break down just from it. In the end he is going to let Skye do whatever she wants, as has always been the case.

"Skye, would you listen to me for a moment?" he asks, tone horribly gentle.

"Of course."

"If at any point you feel like you can't handle it, like it's too much," Coulson says. "Please, Skye, make them stop. This is not – I'm not _ordering you_."

"I can handle it," she says.

"I know you can, but –"

She stops him. She can give him that. Even if it's a lie, she can give him that.

"But if I can't, okay, I'll give up the information," she agrees. "I'll follow your orders."

Coulson knows that Skye is lying, but he feels comforted by it anyway.

 

+

 

And in the end it is Skye's stubborn resistance to give up the intel what buys them enough time for the team to find this place.

Coulson kind of loses track of what happens in a blur of crossfire and smoke grenades and Trip's strong arms propping him up and then next thing he knows is that they are back outside and in the light of day – he has trouble making out how many hours they spent trapped in those cells and when May tells him he is shocked, although he is not sure it's because it's a long time or because it sounds too short a time for how he experienced it.

He doesn't want to approach Skye immediately, beyond making sure she is okay – he sees her in the SUV, sitting on the passenger's side with the door open while Simmons takes care of the most pressing medical needs. He is happy to know that she wasn't lying about her wounds or underselling her condition for his sake, she was telling the truth. He wants to go there and talk to her, hear her voice again, but now without fear, without the impending threat of pain. But he doesn't, he just doesn't.

 

+

 

He looks like shit but she has seen him look like shit before.

She is more worried about the fact that he won't talk to her afterwards. He's off coordinating, assessing, supervising. He's talking to Trip and May. Finding out exactly who had kidnapped them (and Skye will want to hear all about _that_ ).

Skye touches her left cheek, her eye. The swelling has gone down a lot in just some minutes. She's not even listening to Simmons listing her wounds. Skye feels fine. She catches when Simmons says "a couple of days' rest" and "no permanent damage". Then she looks at Skye's shoulder, uncertain. Skye knows that one will probably leave some kind of mark, but she doesn't really mind. She's not ashamed of her scars.

She had guessed that being reunited with Coulson, after that many hours separated by a wall and in danger, would be more momentuous. That he'll come and talk to her at least.

But he doesn't. He just doesn't.

She knows he is watching her, making sure she is okay, considering her wounds from a distance. She wishes he would walk up to her and Simmons and just say something. Ask her if she is okay even though he knows she is. Let her _ask him_ if he is okay. Let her worry.

 

+

 

Skye is getting ready to call it a day – a horrible, neverending, unbelievably shitty day – when there's a knock on her door. She stands up to open it.

He doesn't wait to be invited in, he slides the door open himself. He's glad she's not already in bed like he feared. He _needs_ to clear things up.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Changed and showered he looks a lot better. Only the cut above his right eyebrow looks a bit raw. He's still wearing a suit, but at least he has done away with the jacket. Skye realizes she has done the same thing – she has changed into street clothes even though her plan was to go to sleep immediately.

"Came to check up on me? Doctor Simmons gave me the okay already."

He stands in the middle of the room. Skye takes a seat, crosslegged, on her bed.

"No," he says. "I didn't come to check up on you. I came to apologize."

"To apologize?"

He takes a step towards her. He doesn't sit on her bed or anything. But him standing when she's sitting makes the moment a bit awkward, how she has to look up. Coulson shifts his weight from one feet to the other and then makes a nervous gesture with his hands before speaking. Skye waits it out.

"I shouldn't have told you to... You were right. You are an agent and you deserve more respect and trust than what I've shown you today. I'm sorry, Skye."

"It's okay," she shrugs. "Thinking about it I realized you'd probably have said the same thing to Fitz and Simmons. It wasn't cool, but I know you were trying to protect me. You didn't want me hurt."

"You shouldn't be made to feel like you have to be protected," he tells her. "I know you can handle yourself. You did today."

She kind of smiles. It's not the first time that the imperative of wow-we-actually-survived-that has cut through all the layers of everything else and she understands what he is saying and how it is important but right now she doesn't feel like dissecting the day to that extent. She knows Coulson trusts her, that wasn't ever in doubt.

He reaches his hand to Skye's face. She winces when his fingertips make contact with the bruise under her left eye but she doesn't pull away from the touch. He examines the wound, the pressure of his hand both medical and tender. And there's the black eye and Coulson remembers what it felt like, _imagining_ rather than knowing. His gaze darts down to the ring of red skin around her wrists.

"They'll be fine in a couple of days. I'll be fine."

Coulson looks unconvinced. She extends her arm and takes his hand in hers, his sleeves conveniently rolled up, and she traces the same bruised lines on his wrist – paler because he must have known not to fight – with the same regretful care as he has her cheek.

"How many more of these close calls...?" Coulson says, very low, almost inaudible.

"Snap out of it," she tells him gently. "We made it out and in one piece. I'll say we can be cautiously optimistic. We know we are tough enough."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," he tells her, shaking his head as his fingers go from touching her face to stroking her hair. "Every time I say to myself that I shouldn't let something like this happen again before I..."

"Before you..." she tries to coax it from him, expectant. She thinks she knows what he means – she has had the same thought a thousand times herself. But she doesn't want to risk being wrong.

Coulson can't put it into words. He cups her head in his hands and kisses her gently, just once, just slowly and lightly, barely brushing her mouth with his, but full of clear intent. There's no way to misunderstand this – unless she really wants to. He suspects she doesn't. He hopes she doesn't. He needs her not to.

When he pulls away (she barely had time to close her eyes and it was over) Skye looks up at him, not in surprise, no, not exactly _that_. He still seems troubled. She sighs.

She kisses the bruised skin of his wrist, right over his pulse, Coulson watches her bend over his hand and close her lips over reddened skin.

"I know what you are thinking. But this is not a weakness," she says. "Back in that room I was so scared you might be hurt that it actually helped me focus on not being scared for myself. It kind of got me through it, if I'm honest. It's not something they can use against us. You make me strong. What I – what I feel for you makes me strong."

He arches an eyebrow. "What you feel for me?"

With her hand still holding his arm Skye pulls him against her once more. This time Coulson doesn't go for delicacy. He lets himself be pulled. He lets Skye slide her tongue into his mouth when he feels her fingers making a fist into his shirt. He answers in kind, dropping his hands from her hair to her neck and lower, holding on to the solidity of her, _in one piece_ , her healthy and strong and beautiful body.

It becomes more and more intense, until his hands are everywhere, all at the same time, and Skye _needs_ those hands everywhere, and right now, but also–

"Ouch, ouch, ouch," she mutters when he grabs her shoulder.

"Sorry."

He looks down at his hand, like it's a separate entity he can be angry at.

Coulson starts to pull back, to unwind, to put the tension somewhere else. Skye grabs his collar; she is not going to allow that. "Don't you dare stop now."

He gives her a quiet smile and then he starts undoing the buttons of her shirt until he reveals Skye's shoulder and the gauze Simmons put over what he knows is an ugly burn. He hasn't asked about what it felt like for her, what exactly had happened in that room. This is something he will have to deal with as her boss, and right now he is no one's boss. They'll have to talk about it, soon, but he knows from experience it's no good forcing that particular conversation just after the event. This is something he himself learned the hard way. Maybe he should have learned not to do something like _this_ just after a brush with death and torture. He finds out how little he cares about that as he bends over to kiss the curve of Skye's shoulder, near the wound.

Skye reaches out, cupping his chin in her fingers. She can feel his hesitation about looking up, like he might not like what he would see in her eyes.

"I so doubt either of us mind a few scars," she tells him.

He shakes his head, knowing exactly what she means.

She lets go of him and draws back. She lies down on the bed, not breaking eye contact. When Coulson doesn't immediately react she takes his hand in hers and gives it a little pull, and then a little squeeze for encouragement. Coulson nods.

Skye breathes quietly while he climbs into bed with her. She lets him kiss her throat and her chest. He helps her out of her shirt and bra, with care. He kisses her breasts, the curve of her ribcage. He kisses her stomach. Coulson doesn't stop at her scars, applying the same sweet pressure as he has to the smoother skin over around them. They're a reminder, of course. And he still feels guilty, of course. But if Skye doesn't see it that way he has no right to protest. Skye combs his hair with her fingers, making sure he knows it's okay, what he's doing is okay.

It kind of surprises her when Coulson starts undoing the buttons of her jeans, quickly and without ceremony, but hey, she is not complaining. At all. He only pauses when he sees the bruise on her knee, curious more than worried, and once Skye shrugs it away he goes back to being all business. She always imagined Coulson wanting to take things slow, in this area, but to hell with that, they could have died today, she is just glad Coulson gets that. One moment she is propping herself to help him get rid of the jeans and underwear and the next moment she's completely naked under his hands. He slides down the bed and the next moment she can feel his breath between her legs.

He meant to be patient with this, maybe tease her, but he can see that's not an option – and Skye doesn't seem to be looking for pacience, so he pushes his tongue into her as soon as he finds her wet.

If anything this is turning out to be great for stress, she thinks, grinning to herself, chasing the sensation down the bed and against Coulson's mouth. Not just about today, but about kind of stalemate she has been having with Coulson these past few months. She didn't know it was an stalemate. She didn't know she wasn't alone in this. It's overwhelming. She didn't know he – 

Skye has gone silent, even though her hand stroking his head is enough communication. She guides him and dictates his rhythm, comfortable enough to show him what she likes, how to touch her. Coulson is happy to follow orders but after today he is not comfortable with her silence.

"Talk to me," Coulson says and Skye shivers because she feels the words rather than hears them.

He remembers how he felt inside that cell, how the only thing he wanted was to hear her voice. He thinks about the moment he realized how beloved that voice was to him, and the paralyzing fear that he might never hear it again, the paralyzing fear that he might get to hear it again and face the consequences of what he had just realized. Except – he didn't just realized today, or because she was hurt, or because he thought there was a possibility they might not make it alive. And the paralyzing fear? It had been there before.

"What – what do you want me to say?" she asks.

"Anything," he says, coming up for air and brushing his lips across Skye's navel, making her tremble.

She runs her fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. She can feel the bump where he was hit. She is careful around that. She moans impatiently. Coulson lets himself be guided back between her legs.

"Anything? I never thought you'd be like this," she admits. "I never thought we'd do this."

He replies by curling his tongue. He almost has to smirk at the noise Skye makes (he never thought he'd hear that; he never thought they'd do this either) but then she goes quiet again.

"I got really scared back in that room," she says. She knows he can't reply or comfort her right now, which is just as well. "I'm not – I only _pretend_ I'm brave. It normally gets me through stuff but..."

He stops. "Skye..."

He slides up her bed, reaching to kiss her. He hesitates, but Skye doesn't mind tasting herself on him and she opens up to the kiss as hungrily as before. His hand darts along her leg, his fingers soon finding her and pushing into her. Skye has this little determined look on her face as she arches into his touch, trying to pull him closer, deeper. 

She prefers it this way, seeing his face. His eyes. He smiles at her for a moment and this close Skye can see how the light of that smile shines in those eyes. Something seems to have changed, too; where his tongue had been sweet and generous his fingers are desperate, demanding. Right now she also prefers it this way. It means he feels like she does. At least she really hopes it does.

Coulson has to smile at her brow, furrowed with some doubt, even though her body is matching his every gesture with enthusiasm. Some days Skye completely escapes him. Some days he knows her so well it hurts. He knows she's overthinking it. She shouldn't, because as far as he is concerned, she can do whatever she wants with him. She can have whatever she really wants from him. She deserves it too.

"Yes," Coulson says, suddenly.

"What?"

"Whatever your face is thinking of now. It's _Yes_."

Skye returns the smile.

 

+

 

He wakes up to her voice. For a moment he thinks he's still trapped in that cell (and she's still trapped in that cell) and his heartbeat speeds up, terrified. But then he notices the soft light in the room, and the smell of recent sex, and the warm body under his.

"Coulson, Coulson," she says, gently, but with obvious impatience.

"Mmm?"

It's not like she wants him to stop touching her, but she kind of needs him to shift his position. She felt horrible waking him up because she knows how much he needs the rest, and not just because of today.

"Your arm," she explains. "It's – ouch, _ouch_."

That wakes him up completely. At some point during the night he must have rolled over her and now his arm and his shoulder are pressing into the wound of her, spread all over her.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

She sits up in bed and Coulson follows her example, propping himself on his elbows to look at her, bedsheets to one side. No modesty at all, Skye thinks. Just as well. Even in the half-darkness of her room she can't say she doesn't enjoy the view.

How long it's been since they fell asleep? He thinks not long, half an hour at most, because he still feels his body reeling, and overworked, sore; he still needs proper rest.

"Your bed is too small," he protests. "Next time we'll go to my room. Slightly bigger bed."

"Next time?" she asks, grinning, running the palm of her hands over his leg. Nice legs, she thinks of telling him just to make him laugh. But making him laugh is not what she wants right now. She bends over to place a single, heavy kiss above his hip.

Coulson groans, tensing up. But then he tangles his hand into Skye's hair, his caress clear enough as a reply to her _next time?_ question. He has no problem admitting, with or without words, that he's imagining a string of next-times right now. But in all honesty he is going to need some time before that can happen. It was a miracle he managed to do anything about it before – it must have been the adrenaline, because he knows he is in no condition.

"I think we've exherted ourselves enough for one day," he says.

"Oh?" she protests, disappointed, but knowing he is right. They are both tired. She is exhausted. Her whole body aches. Not that any of this matters. Not with Phil Coulson in her bed and naked and in love with her. She's overcome with the desire to kiss him and because now she has no reason not to that's exactly what she does. It's exhilarating. His mouth feels so hot and it has started to have something of a familiar taste and Skye doesn't let go for a while, opening him up while her fingernails scrape gently along his arms.

"I don't think it would be physically possible for me to," he tells her with an apologetic smile.

"No, no, me neither."

His smile widens. "It's not the same thing."

"I know _that_ ," Skye tells him, rolling her eyes. "I know how penises work, actually, thank you very much."

He stares at her, charmed over and over by this woman. He swallows.

"What?" she asks, going off the strange expression on his face. It takes her a bit to decipher it. "What? _Oh_ , I see. Because I said penises. Because you like direct women. That's your thing. Isn't it?" 

His smile softens, less amused and more touched He reaches out his hand and pulls her hair back from over her shoulder.

"I like _you_. Right now that's my only thing." 

_Give me a break_ , she thinks. She's had quite the trying day, in case he has forgotten. She's hardly equipped to handle Coulson being like this right now. She'll need a full night's sleep for that. Which reminds her – 

"Bed," she says, palm over his breastbone briefly and pushing him into the matress, laughing softly as she does. He complies. They have to be up in a few hours, face the realities of this new arrangement under the harsh light of day. He suspects they will be okay, but he also know it's not going to be easy.

"I'll try not to roll over you again," Coulson comments, sounding a bit mortified.

She runs her fingers through his hair, touching his sideburns, caressing his cheek. He looks so utterly exposed like this, and Skye feels the protective instinct she's always had about him kick in again, like she was back in that cell and imagining the million horrible things the bad guys could be doing to him.

"I have an easy solution for that."

"Which is?"

"Stop holding me," Skye says, turning serious. "Let me _hold you_."

Coulson stares at her in the half-light of her room, still a bit baffled by all things Skye, that hasn't gone away or become too familiar to notice. He nods dumbly, normally it's all he can do.

"Always thinking outside the box," he says appreciatively, voice quiet but seeping emotion.

He turns on his side, settling on the small bed again, his back to her, head finding the comfortable spot on her pillow. She runs her fingers over the dark bruises right above his kidney. Coulson doesn't flinch. She looks down at her own worse-for-wear body.

"We both look awful," she reflects.

"But we are fine," Coulson reminds her.

"Mmm," she agrees, but she can't help but trace the outline of his recent wounds with shaky hands.

"I thought you were going to hold me," he says, voice full of humor and intimacy and trust.

Then he feels her moving under the sheets, brushing her hips against him.

Skye smiles, even though he can't see her. She pushes images of Coulson being tortured out of her mind, but keeps the feeling that put the fear in there. The reason why the idea of him suffering or hurt was so unthinkable to her in the first place.

"Here it is," she says, pressing her chest against his back and slipping one arm under his and around his waist.

Resting her hand across the scar over his heart.

"Good agent," Coulson mutters, in a tone that makes Skye bury her face between his shoulder-blades, unable to deal with what she is feeling right now, unable to _trust_ what she is feeling, because it's not something she has ever felt the right to, before. But then Coulson kind of settles back against her body with a small contented moan and he touches his hand against hers and Skye doesn't need to hide her face anymore.

He is tired and wounded and in pain and he lied when he said next time they'd go to his room because the truth is that he likes Skye's room better, he likes her bed and he likes it in her arms, right now, with no plans to leave. He wants to be here.


End file.
